Chương 7
“They know that doesn’t release me.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I called my brother.”
“Why?”
“He might lend me money.”
“How much?”
“Maybe enough to settle it.”
I turned from the window.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“Don’t settle anything without telling me.”
“I’m trying to fix it.”
“That is how this started.”
Silence.
Then, quieter, “Yeah.”
I sat down again.
“How much can your brother lend?”
“Three thousand.”
“And you said you have twelve hundred.”
“About that.”
“That still isn’t the full balance.”
“The collector said they might take less.”
“When did they say that?”
“Months ago.”
“Before or after the fake authorization?”
He flinched audibly.
“After.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Do nothing.”
“Claire, if I can get them to accept four grand—”
“Do nothing until I speak to Marisol.”
“You always have to control everything.”
The sentence came so automatically that for a second neither of us reacted.
Then the old version of our marriage entered the call.
Me with spreadsheets.
Eric with unopened envelopes.
Me asking dates.
Eric saying he would handle it.
Me handling it.
He cleared his throat.
“That came out wrong.”
“No, it came out familiar.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“Then help by waiting.”
He was quiet.
“Fine.”
“And send me whatever they offered you.”
We ended the call without discussing Emma.
That bothered me afterward.
I nearly called back.
Then Emma opened the living room door.
“Lena says penguins have knees but they’re inside.”
“They are.”
Emma stared at me.
“You knew?”
“I know many upsetting things.”
“Why can’t you see them?”
“Their feathers and body shape hide them.”
She frowned.
“That seems suspicious.”
“Evolution has no obligation to be visually transparent.”
Lena shouted from the kitchen, “Thank you.”
Emma went back to the table.
I called Marisol.
She listened without interrupting while I explained the agency’s findings and Eric’s possible settlement money.
When I finished, she said, “Do you know how much cash you would have left after closing under the current estimate?”
“Roughly seventy-six hundred.”
“Not including moving costs.”
“No.”
“Or immediate repairs.”
“No.”
“And you told me the property may need a water heater within a year.”
“Yes.”
“Then I do not want you contributing thousands to this debt unless there is no alternative.”
My stomach tightened at the word property.
I had tried not to picture the house too clearly because hope had become dangerous.
It was a two-bedroom cream-colored place on Alder Street with a narrow kitchen, crooked back steps, and a maple tree that dropped seeds into the gutters.
The first time Emma saw the listing, she had pointed to the smaller bedroom and said, “My books would fit there.”
I had saved the photograph anyway.
“What alternative?”
Marisol said, “Your decree gives you recourse against your former husband, but that is separate from the mortgage process.”
“I know.”
“For underwriting, what matters is how the debt is currently treated, whether it must be included, and whether there is evidence the collection may be resolved without reducing your reserves below program requirements.”
“So if Eric pays it?”
“That could work.”
“If the agency accepts less?”
“Potentially, but get everything in writing.”
There was that word again.
Potentially.
It had become the soundtrack of my life.
Marisol continued.
“I also need to tell you something about the property.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What?”
“The seller’s agent contacted us through your loan file.”
“Why?”
“They received another offer.”
My heart dropped.
“Higher?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can they take it?”
“Your purchase agreement is still active.”
“For how long?”
“Your financing contingency expires next Wednesday.”
I looked at the calendar on Lena’s wall.
Five days.
“If underwriting isn’t cleared by then?”
“You may need an extension.”
“Will the seller give one?”
“That would be between your agent and the seller.”
“And if they don’t?”
Marisol did not soften the answer.
“You could lose the house.”
After the call, I stood in Lena’s kitchen and watched Emma color a penguin purple.
I had never shown her the Alder Street house in person.
I had refused.
Not until it was certain.
She only knew there was a place I was trying to buy.
She did not know about the maple tree.
She did not know there was a window seat in the living room.
She did not know I had measured the smaller bedroom from listing photos and calculated that her white milk-crate shelves would fit along the wall if I turned one sideways.
Lena looked up from her laptop.
“What happened?”
“Another offer.”
“Can they do that?”
“They can receive one.”
“Can they take it?”
“Maybe.”
She closed the laptop.
“That’s not helpful.”
“No.”
“What do you need to do?”
“I need Eric to fix the debt without destroying my cash reserves, underwriting to accept it, the seller to wait, Emma to keep getting better, my employer to verify my hours, and my family to leave me alone.”
Lena nodded thoughtfully.
“So basically nothing.”
I laughed.
It came out halfway between a laugh and a sob.
Emma glanced over.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
She held up the purple penguin.
“Do they come in this color?”
“No.”
“Then nature made a mistake.”
“Apparently.”
My phone buzzed.
This time it was my father.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw the message preview.
Found something in garage.
Need you to see it.
A photograph followed.
It showed an open cardboard box I did not recognize.
Inside were several of Emma’s missing things.
The unicorn headphone stand.
Her desk lamp.
Two stuffed animals.
And beneath them, folded into a square, was the blue blanket with white moons.
I stared at the photograph.
For three days, I had believed my mother had thrown it away.
My father sent another message.
Your mother told me trash pickup took it.
She didn’t.
A third message arrived.
Claire, there are other things in here too.
May you like
I opened the photo again and enlarged it.
At the edge of the box, underneath the blanket, was a white envelope.
